


Just Like That

by Brachydios



Series: Here We Are Again, Once More [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Coming Out, Family Fluff, Gen, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brachydios/pseuds/Brachydios
Summary: Edward Elric is fifteen when he realizes he's bisexual.





	Just Like That

**Author's Note:**

> The start of this is perhaps darker than the summary warrants but hey - this boy has problems. The previous two fics in this series give context to certain interactions in this one, but it's possible to get by without reading them.  
> Whenever I write shit it becomes way longer than I intended, damn. Whats up with that

Ed cannot afford to indulge in fantasies - no matter how pleasing of a distraction they are, they’re just that: Distractions.

And when on a quest to right his wrongs, seeking redemption for what he has done to his brother and his own body, his life is already as complicated as it can get. Or, perhaps more accurate, his life is already brimming at the rim with an overflow of sludge that is a result of his own stupid mistakes that seeks to drown him - and more pressing - his brother as well. He does not ( _can not_ ) become sidetracked with any sort of useless interruptions that could potentially hinder their progress. He has enough sins crawling on his back as is, he does not want to add more to the slithering pile that constricts him by diverting from his path in a course that could be so easily avoided. There is no sense in entertaining a luxury he doesn’t deserve, doesn’t have the right to, not when his regrets are a cacophony that remind him of what he has done, a most unforgiving choir.

( _Mutilated and disfigured, Mother’s voice calm as blood trickles down his chin as her neck is twisted in an impossible angle, “why couldn’t you bring me back, Edward? I know you can do better.” Ribcage splayed open, bones cracked and piercing through her rotten flesh, her skin blackened as it slips and falls from what little purchase it has among her putrid flesh. The_ stench _so overpowering that it fills every inch of him, indescribable and lethal, imprinting into his mind as it makes his stomach heave, like a knife to the gut, piercing and excruciating._

 _How could you have done that? She was your_ mother _._

_A brother imprisoned within a cage of metal, punished for his older brother’s sins. A constant, overbearing reminder, one that burrows itself deep and gorges a hollow cavity within his gut that physically pains him. Al had never deserved this to happen to him, to be trapped as a walking object, unable to feel, eat or sleep. He deserves those simple luxuries such as enjoying an apple pie, and yet Ed’s mistakes has ruined the person he holds most dear. Al being unfairly punished for Ed’s own irresponsible error has him want to rip the flesh from his bone - he should have his body stripped from him, not Al - he was supposed to protect his little brother. He should have never have failed him._

_How could you have done that? He is your_ brother _._

_A young girl and her dog, fused together in a terrible mosaic of something completely unnatural, something that should have never have happened. Her father an uncomfortable mirror of himself he refuses to acknowledge. A horrible truth that bears itself in front of him, mocking and cruel. “We’re the same, you and I.” A blood of a young girl on his hands._

_How could you have let that happen? She was_ innocent. _)_

Sleep does not come easy to him, most nights.

As he stares blankly up at the ceiling while lying stiff in his bed for what seems to be the endless hour of his attempt to sleep, he thinks, perhaps, he deserves it.

His brother is in the next room over, without the ability of sleep ( _because of him_ ), and Ed finding his own inability to slip into slumber is perhaps almost a small piece of poetic justice.

Ed knows that Al would disagree, his brother too caring - too _forgiving_ \- for his own good. But he attempts to take his small blessings when he can.

There are times when he thinks of disturbing Al when he cannot sleep, to talk, to simply sit together, to confess nights are rarely comforting, the silence overbearing and suffocating. It is within the darkness and loneliness of nights that the growing hole within is the loudest, its song a wretched tune that constantly reminds him of his blunders, blunders that have brought down with them others who did not deserve it.

On those nights, much like this one, he does not stir. He simply stares at the ceiling, his hands gripping tightly onto his blankets as he clenches his jaw. He does not tell Alphonse. Al is already burdened too heavily as is ( _because of him_ ), he does not ( _can not_ ) want his brother to worry about him as well.

He swallows thickly as the ceiling morphs itself into an apparition of Mother’s upturned head, eyes sunken, skin a patchwork of discolouration and wilting, jaw distended as she reaches out with an impossibly long arm as creaks and groans with bones that twist and snap -

He flinches, despite himself, finding his breathing has become quickened, short and sharp through his nose as he holds onto his blankets in a death grip. He loosens his jaw, only now noticing he has kept so clamped shut it begins to hurt.

He squeezes his eyes shut, counting his breaths - _one, two, three_ \- in an attempt to calm the rattling of nerves inside him. He does not notice the tear that has escaped the corner of his eye until he re-opens them and feels it lazily go across his cheek.

He lets out a shuddering, broken breath through his mouth, bringing his flesh hand to rub his face to center himself.

The ceiling has blessedly returned to its blank self, and Ed turns his head to grip onto his pillow in a vain attempt in some purchase of comfort. He buries his face into it, and tries to divert his thoughts elsewhere.

He knows he shouldn’t indulge in fantasies, but there are moments - nights cold and lonely - that he is too desperate not to. _Pathetic_ , he’ll berate himself when morning comes, but for now his eyes are wet and threaten to spill as he sniffles into his pillow, he just wants _something_ \- something that doesn’t fill his mind with colossal pain.

What he thinks of is a image he thinks about more than he’d admit to, one that he isn’t even entirely sure is comforting, but one that gives him reassuring familiarity, one that he craves so desperately for. He knows in order to move on he shouldn’t dwell on the feelings of the past, but he has moments of weakness.

A simple family, a mother and a father and two children, living in the countryside of Resembool - there is no sickness, no war, no worries, the sun is bright and grass and lush green. The air is warm and inviting, and it is serene and calm.

Oftentimes Ed envisions himself as the father of this family, with a wife who humours his antics and giggles when he kisses her. Her face is a blur, her voice muffled, but she is there nonetheless. Sometimes he has a husband instead, still blurry, but still a beacon of ease. Sometimes his spouse is all too blurry to even properly make out. The children similarly are also vague, but they have blonde hair and are happy to see him. They cry in joy when they see him, and he is delighted to crouch down to be engulfed in a hug.

Other times, Ed is one of the children. Alphonse is the other, and Mother and Father beam happily to him. Father does not ever lock himself in his study, but instead joins them with dinner, ruffles his sons’ hair playfully, and he never leaves. Mother smiles, bright at the sun, and tells him how proud she is.

(Sometimes, he isn’t in the picture at all. It is Alphonse - flesh and blood and with a body - and his husband. They walk hand in hand and speak of something Ed cannot hear, but even as a spector that watches on, this is the fantasy that puts him the most at ease. His brother deserves a happy life after everything Ed has undeservedly put him through. And Ed knows that if to ensure his brother happiness he should have to sacrifice his own, he would, in a heartbeat).

Ed does not know if these fantasies of himself are his want to ensure children like him do not suffer his own fate of a broken family, or if its his crushed longing for things to be _normal_. He does not know if when he pictures himself as a father, him having children of his own, is because he despises his own father. That he wishes to be every opposite of him: a good father, a good husband, one that allows his children to have a safe, happy childhood.

Sometimes these fantasies hurt. A dull ache that pierces him sharply. The mourning of something he never had the chance experience.

He snorts bitterly into his pillow. He’s going to need therapy when this all over.

He is about to attempt another endeavour to sleep when he opens his eyes once more, realizing a certain aspect of his fantasies that he hadn’t actually noticed at first.

He shifts within his bed, slowly, and stares once more towards the ceiling, brows knitted.

He had thought of a husband - _his_ husband, who was happy to see him and who helped raise his children. Had he always included a husband within these futile fantasies?

He can’t rightly remember, nor does he find himself with an actual care too. But there’s a growing feeling within him, something he can’t exactly place. Instead of a bleak hole that was once occupying him its something more - pleasant. Something a little more bearable.

It isn’t a sudden, rocking realization, but its one that has him momentarily hold his breath. When he breathes again, it is like all the tension within his body is let loose.

Maybe subconsciously he had known this facet about himself all along that he doesn’t actually feel that surprised by the matter - or perhaps he is too tired to be surprised - but its one that brings him an odd - but welcome - reprieve. It feels nice. It feels comforting.

He wants a family of his own, to rebuild what he had lost, whether it be with a wife or a husband - if they’ll have him.

In the darkness, he feels the corner of his lips turn upwards slightly.

 

* * *

 

Winry’s presence is one that is always welcomed. And while an assertion he wouldn’t say out loud because its unbearable cheesy, Winry is a person that, stubborn as she may be, allows Ed to relax and find comfort in. A close friend he trusts dearly, one he is genuinely happy to be around.

She is also crazy.

“Milk is _good_ for you,” she huffs, rolling her eyes, “vitamin D promotes calcium absorption. You know, the thing that makes your bones stronger and _taller?_ ”

A small sprout of rage courses through him with the implications of the statement - momentarily making him regret greeting Winry in the first place when he and Al visited Rush Valley to meet her.

She had _insulted_ him by giving him a glass of milk when they got comfortable in her abode, as if trying drive Ed out the door as soon as his rear hit the couch he was sitting on.

The _nerve_ of some people. You grow up with some people and they think they’re allowed to betray you on a daily basis.

Ed is glad that Al is not here to witness it, having decided he would meet with Mei Chang and catch up somewhere else.

Ed points an accusatory finger at Winry, keeping his gaze pointedly averted from the offending glass of milk in the table in front of him, “that’s what they _want_ you to think.”

Winry fixes him with a despairing look, folding her arms as she leans against the door, “what are you, a conspiracy theorist?”

“Listen,” Ed starts, “its true. The dairy industry is just a bunch of propaganda and lies.”

Winry simply stares blankly at him, raising a brow slightly.

“Alright,” she sighs, “I’m sure I’ll regret it but I’ll bite, what makes you say that?”

Ed smiles triumphantly, leaning forward as he readies himself to unload the truth, “during the Ishval Civil War there was a surplus of milk, right? So to ensure a profit and that people would buy the stuff, the big wigs decide to spin a story saying the shit’s necessary. That you have to drink it to get strong bones.”

“Right.” Winry deadpans.

“But the truth is: it isn’t important. At all. It’s just a marketing scheme.”

“Uh huh.”

“Like - did you know that mammals naturally become lactose intolerant after they wean?” It’s a truth bomb, one that should shatter a lot of milk-sympathizers worldview but when he searches Winry’s face, he finds her distinctly unimpressed.

“Because it's true,” Ed continues, “and humans too - or at least they’re supposed to. Amestrians have had such a historically milk based diet we’ve essentially mutated ourselves to be tolerant of the shit.”

“Then drink it, dweeb, you’re Amestrian and not lactose intolerant.”

“Did you not listen to a word I said?” he asks incredulously, scrunching his nose up at her.

She rolls her eyes theatrically at him, before she steps forward and in one swift, horrifying moment, takes the glass of milk and takes a sip.

“Hmm,” she hums, giving him an smirk that makes Ed’s blood go on fire, “delicious.”

Ed visibly sudders, emitting a “ _eyuk_ ”, and he wonders, not for the first time, if Winry is actually human.

“Don’t make that face at me,” she chides, as she seats herself across from him, “keep your ugly mug stuck like that and it’ll break.”

“You disgust me.”

“ _Excuse me,_ ” Winry scoffs, “this is _my_ house, and you’re a _guest_.” she gives him a small smile, full of milk approving malice as she brings the glass up to her lips once more, ”so I’ll be as disgusting as I want, thanks.”

She takes another sip, while maintaining eye contact, and Ed wonders if the act can be classified as a hate crime.

“You know you can research on what I said,” Ed says, not bothering on hiding his blatant disapproval at Winry’s crass disregard of the facts he just told her, “I could even send you some academic articles about it-”

“You’re ridiculous,” she cuts him off, snorting, “and I don’t care. Milk tastes good.”

“And you call _me_ ridiculous,” Ed scoffs, “only an idiot would ignore well researched _facts_ -”

“ _Anyway,_ ” she cuts him off again, and Ed makes a whine of objection before he can stop himself, “changing the subject.”

Ed sinks back into the couch, both thankful for the change and frustrated he wasn’t allowed the last say.

“How are you? Are you getting enough sleep?”

Winry and her uncanny perception to mystically pick at wounds that Ed would rather let be. He shifts in the couch, attempting not to give too much away.

He waves a hand at her direction, “yeah, I’m fine. Same old, same old.”

She hums, nodding slowly, “right. So I suppose the bags under your eyes are just a fashion statement, then?”

He stills, immediately, whipping his gaze back to her. She is staring at him with pursed lips, clearly getting the confirmation she needs by his reaction.

“Are the nightmares getting worse?” she asks, softly, and there’s a pitying look in her eyes - it makes his skin crawl despite himself.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, averting his gaze stubbornly - it makes him feel immature, but this isn’t a topic he particularly enjoys discussing, so he tells her, “I don’t feel like talking about it,” he grumbles.

He hears her sigh, and when stealing a glance at her direction he sees her rub her face with her hand, and guilt steadily grips itself within him.

“Edward,” she says, her voice gentle, and it makes him inwardly cringe, “they won’t go away if you try to ignore them, you know.”

He _knows_ she’s right, he knows continuously avoiding the matter in its entirety will continue more sleepless nights filled with images and thoughts that haunt him. He knows, that without help they will continue to get worse, but the thought of even confessing such to anyone - such as Winry, or God forbid, _Alphonse_ \- makes his skin itch uncomfortably. The mere thought is nauseating.

“I’m fine, really,” he says, and it’s so pathetically obvious he isn’t with his tone that he wants to punch himself.

He wants her to drop the subject, he doesn’t want Winry to feel obligated to play therapist for him. His guilt is painfully piercing as is.

“You’re not,” she admonishes, and his first reaction is a wave of annoyance at her persistence, “you can talk to me, Ed.”

He knows he _can_ , but he’d rather pull all his teeth out. At this point, he’d rather be talking about milk.

For a moment he thinks of pigheadedly keeping his mouth shut and impassively staring at the wall behind Winry, but that would only encourage her to dip deeper. So he instead plans to derail the conversation altogether, to throw her in so much of a loop so much so that Winry won’t realize she’s dropped the previous subject.

He licks his lips, and he sees Winry take immediate interest.

“What do you think about us?” he blurts out.

It works - for the moment, taking her by surprise as she reels back, blinking at him.

“W-What?” she stutters.

“You know,” he attempts to continue, not wanting her to regain her composure and bring back the topic he’s attempting to avoid, “since people always talk about us. Being together and stuff.” He blunders sheepishly - it's embarrassing for him as it is embarrassing for her.

“I -” she starts, before she just opens and closes her mouth wordlessly. He almost wants to say sorry, for being dishonest with her deflecting, but this isn’t a conversation he’s ready for.

She shakes her head, attempting to clear her head, and responds slowly, “I - uh. Hadn’t given it - much thought?”

Her voice is twinged in awkwardness, and she actually takes another swig of her milk.

“Okay.” Ed nods, relieved both in his own success of his diversion, and the fact they _are_ having _this_ conversation - better this than the other topic. “Okay.” Ed says again, “that’s good.”

“It’s good?” Winry responds, flatly parroting him.

“Yeah.” Ed says, shrugging lightly as he attempts to calm his nerves, “I hadn’t thought about it either.”

He winces, because that’s a lie - “actually no - I have.”

“Right.” She says slowly.

“Look,” Ed says, trying to rebuild his confidence, “I do care about you, Winry. A lot.”

Winry is silent in her response, her face unreadable as she clearly waits for him to continue.

“You’re my friend,” he says, and feels the knot in his stomach release itself as he treads in territory that that he has been rehearsing. Winry deserves knowing how much he values her - God only knows he doesn’t say thank you enough (a reminder that Al is glad to continuously peg into him).

“Well - You’re more than that, really,” he continues, and he finds himself fiddling with his gloves, “you’re like -” he brings his gaze back up to her, and sees her intently watching him with knitted brows and - _fuck,_ why is this suddenly hard?”

“You’re like the sister I never had,” he manages, more quiet than he actually intended, “you’re family, Winry.”

He sees her blink, clearly digesting what he’s said, and she nods, slowly, and slightly.

Suddenly - her expression changes, her brows come together in what seems like - _annoyance?_

She huffs, wrinkling her nose at him, and there’s a terrifying moment he thinks he accidentally offended her.

“Alright,” she says flatly, “how much money do you need?”

Ed blinks.

Ed is so taken aback from her response he doesn’t even know how to response - he thinks he’s misheard her.

“What?” he asks, genuinely bewildered by her response.

“ _Money,_ ” she says, emphasizing each syllable, and Ed feels as though he’s somehow skipped over a part of their conversation that would have provided context.

She snorts, clearly taking his confused look as a response to elaborate, “you’re being all cheesy, clearly you want something. So, you need a pick me up from your _sister?_ ” she smirks, saying the word almost teasingly.

Ed blinks again. It takes his brain a few moments to process what she just said.

“You - “ he begins, as he continues put together what he means. Quite frankly, he’s almost insulted she thinks he would grovel in such a way (He’d buy her a gift first).

He shakes himself, “I just told you I care about you like you were family and you think I want _money?_ ”

“Typically, family calls more often, _Edward,_ ” she continues, in mocking jest, the air between them becomes more comfortable, “so you’re trying to get all doey eyed on me because you want something from me.”

“Wow,” Ed says, leaning back against the couch as he regards her - she looks too smug for her own good, “ _cold._ You don’t think this one time I’m genuinely opening my soul bare to you?”

She rolls her eyes, and Ed still doesn’t know if he should rightly be offended, “yeah sure,” she says, “whatever you say, _little_ brother.”  

“You know what, I retract my previous statement,” Ed says, scowling - because honestly, what kind of weasel does that? - “you’re not my sister. You’re my enemy.”

She barks out a laugh, snorting in between giggles before she regains her composure.

She then fixes him with an oddly soft look, “so you mean that then?”

“Yeah,” Ed says, his previous ire dissipating rather quickly. Winry has that effect, he continues, “you’re my sworn nemesis.”

She gives out another snort, “right. At least I’m not your girlfriend.”

“Well you don’t have to seem so _relieved_ about it,” Ed scoffs, _now_ offended, rightly so.

“Yeah well,” she says, “good luck to any girl that falls for you. I’ll pray for her sanity.”

He scrunches his nose at her, vexed, and about to bring his own retort her way, but what comes instead is, “or boyfriend.”

It comes out as a mutter, his want to correct people when they’re wrong or off too overpowering for him to shut up, even when he needs to. He finds himself tensing despite himself, when the words leave him.

Winry merely shrugs, “or your boyfriend. I’ll pray for him too.”

She says so without hesitation or even any sort of _look_ in his direction that he wonders if he had came out in the first place to her. There’s a second wherein he just stares, and it all seems so blissfully natural he lets out a shaky laugh before he can stop himself, “excuse me,” he says, recovering himself, “I’ll have you know my good looks could make anyone fall for me.”

“Overconfidence is a flimsy shield, Ed,” she says, her words are teasing but her smile is genuinely warm. It’s a good look on her.

 

* * *

 

“I want to go back to school.”

Alphonse’s voice makes he turn to look up at his brother, the two of them seated once more on a train back from Rush Valley.

“Yeah?” Ed replies, a brow quirked upwards as Al looks at his brother from staring out the window.

“Yeah.” Al confirms, “You know, when this is all over. I’d like that.”

Ed nods, understanding the sentiment. It’d be nice, it’d be _normal_.

Ed knows already when they’ve gotten their bodies back he’ll immediately resign from the military and then - well. He’s always jumped to the “finding a spouse and becoming a father” stage. But he thinks he’d enjoy going back to school too. Afterall - how else is he going to find his future spouse?

“Any idea what subject you’re gonna focus on?” Ed asks, leisurely leaning on an elbow.

“Not sure yet, actually,” Al responds, shrugging slightly, “maybe bio-alchemy. Or even alkahestry.” He averts his gaze outside to the window, where the scenery passes in a blur, “or just something that’ll let me help people.”

Ed finds himself smiling warmly - because of course Al would. He’s always been the bleeding heart between the two of them.

“Aw,” Ed cooes, bringing Al’s attention back to him, “my little brother, everyone’s personal guardian angel.”

Al emits a small “ _ugh_ ” and an exaggerated roll of the eyes, “my big brother,” he begins, sarcastically, and Ed finds his smile brightening, “everyone’s personal pest.”

Ed scoffs, “words hurt, Al.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” Al expresses, with a small flick of the wrist, “so grow a backbone, brother.”

“I take that back, you’re not a guardian angel, you’re a menace.”

“I’m giving you _advice_ ,” Alphonse says nonchalantly, “you can’t allow simple words to deter you, you know.”

“Even when such words come from your own brother?”

“ _Especially_ if they come from your brother.”

“In that case,” Ed says, leaning forward, “word on the street is that Alphonse is an asshole.”

“Correction,” Al asserts, pointing to the ceiling in confidence, “word on the street is that Alphonse is the better Elric brother.”

“Well, can’t argue with that,” Ed concedes easily, shrugging.

“Wow,” Al says, “I thought you’d at least argue a little.”

Ed gestures vaguely between the space between them, a small smirk on his lips, “hey, I’m a scientist. When the evidence points to an answer, I take it as an objective fact.”

“That’s like the nicest thing you’ve ever indirectly said to me.”

Ed snorts, “I’ve said plenty nice things to you, you troglodyte.”

“Oh _‘troglodyte’_ , your vocabulary is expanding beyond crude swear words,” Al brings a hand to his chest in mock affection, “I’m so proud. You’re evolving.”

“ _Sheesh,_ ” is all Ed can retort with, as he rolls his eyes, leaning back into his seat, “ruthless.”

“I prefer the term ‘brutal honesty’ myself.” Al says cheerfully.

Ed merely hums in response, and is about to stare out the window when Al’s voice comes again.  
“You gonna come to school with me when this all over or what?”

Ed blinks, before he focuses on the table between them as he ponders it.

It’s a tempting thought, if he’s going to be honest, and relaxing in comparison to their current career paths within the military. It would be nice simply just to study, with no urgency of researching for the Philosopher's Stone. The idea of the two of them arguing about studies and exams is strikingly appealing, all things considered.

But he is, ultimately, not entirely sure. Research - yes, he wants to do that - but for a grade? He isn’t quite so sure. When this all over, their bodies are returned, and he is no longer part of the military, he hopes his reputation of being the youngest State Alchemist will help him in receiving open doors that would’ve been otherwise closed - perhaps as a researcher in some prestigious university without actually being a student. He would receive grants, write a paper or a dozen, become a proficient published academic - praised in his field of course - before he would go home to his doting wife or husband with his kids. It’s an ideal life, he thinks.

“Maybe,” Ed says, nodding to himself, “I’m not sure. I’m already pretty smart as is.”

Al snorts, “Okay, sure.” He sounds distinctly unconvinced.

Ed shrugs, “think I’d rather travel.”

Al nods, “fair.”

“Not gonna miss too much, are ya?” Ed teases.

“Oh trust me,” Al says, “I’ll be glad to get rid of you.”

It’s a joke, he knows it - but the odd thing is it still hurts, stinging. He knows Al isn’t being serious, but it’s almost an involuntary reaction.

Before he lets it show on his face - because it’s an overreaction and _stupid_ \- he huffs, “while you’re cramming for exams I’ll be seducing babes.”

 _That_ gets Al replying with a bark of laughter, “seducing them with _what?_ ”

Ed scoffs, “with my irresistible charm and -” he points to his temple, “- my big brain.”

“Your big brain.” Al deadpans back, “ _oh-kay…_ ” he enunciates the word with a sigh, with a light tone of sarcasm.

“Rude.” Ed declares, “just because you lack it doesn’t mean there aren’t men and women who wouldn’t find it charming and alluring.”

The casual inclusion of ‘ _men_ ’ in that sentence fits so easy that at first he doesn’t even realize he’s said it - it feels entirely natural to admit, pleasing and leaning on the side of being homely.

Ed continues, “and when I got myself a boyfriend or a girlfriend, then I’ll rub it in your face and you’ll be sorry.”

He smirks in the way he knows irritates his brother, so smug that he doesn’t immediately realize he’s just come out to his brother.

Al tilts his head, and it is that action that makes him realize what he has actually said.

He shouldn’t - _feel_ awkward, it’s _Alphonse,_ he wouldn’t make it weird, and yet… The feeling slowly slithers itself around him as he feels his face go red.

“Too bad I’ll get a boyfriend first.” Al says, alleviating the embarrassed tension within Ed, and the older Elric brother sputters out a sigh.

“Pft, sure.” He mutters, still red in the face as he stares, annoyed, out the window again.

Al’s quiet sniggering brings his head snapping back, momentarily thinking his brother is mocking him - he’s about to open his mouth to make some sort indignant response when Al beats him to it.

“So then,” Al says, casually, “how long did you did you know you liked boys as well as girls?”

Ed blows a raspberry through his mouth, “I dunno,” he responds, truthfully, “I think - I always had a feeling. That I could fall in love with anyone. I just -” he scrunches up his face, gesturing his hands vaguely as he attempts to think of the right words, “ - never gave it too much thought until recently.”

He isn’t entirely sure if that makes sense, but Al nods nonetheless.

“Man,” Al says, “what’s with us and admitting we like boys to each other while on trains?”

Ed taps his fingers on the table, “well you see, the raw masculine energy of trains-”

“Okay. Stop,” Al interrupts, shaking his hand, and Ed responds with a small snicker, “anything that starts with ‘raw masculine energy’ is never good.”

Ed assumes then that the rest of the trip will continue in a comfortable silence, that this is the conversation’s end. But Al then leans forward, and he has an oddly coy aura waving him off him. Ed quirks a brow upwards slightly in a silent response.

“Was it Ling?” Al says, and Ed can _feel_ his figurative eyebrow waggle, “he make you realize that boys are cute too?”

“ _Ugh,_ ” Ed groans, palming at his face - Al sniggers again - “sure. Let’s just go with that, if that’ll make you shut up.”

“Oh so you _do_ like him. Setting your standards at the top, with a _prince_.”

Ed shrugs as casually as he can, feeling his face begin to redden again, “yeah he’s _cute,_ I have _eyes._ ”

Alphonse lets out a torrent of giggles, “yeah he is pretty cute. You’d make a cute couple.”

“ _Shut up._ ”

“ _Edward and Ling, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-_ ”

There’s a small _‘pap’_ as one of Ed’s gloves hits the surface of Al’s helmet after being rocketed by Ed flinging it across the table after hastily taking it off. It effectively stops his brother from his tyranny.

“Wow, assault.” Al says.

“Self defense.” Ed replies flatly, folding his arms.

Al lightly flings the glove back to his brother, another _‘pap’_ is emitted as Ed finds his reflexes too slow to block the garment from hitting his own face.

“Hey,” Al says, as Ed begrudgingly puts the glove back on his hand, “remember when you asked me what my ‘type’ was?”

“Yeah?” Ed says, still focusing on his glove.

“Well I’ve figured it out.” Al says, oddly excited, Ed stares back at him. “So I’m gonna tell you and we’ll see if our tastes align.”

“...Alright.” Ed replies, deciding to humour his brother as he leans back - at least he seems to have moved on from the Ling teasing. The tone in Al’s voice is partly giddy, and he supposes it would be fun to see if they have similar tastes. “Shoot.”

“Okay so,” Al starts, bringing a hand up as he lists with his fingers, “Charismatic. Got a way with words, voice that’s pleasing to listen to - both can put you nicely to sleep and make you listen for hours.”  
“Go on.”

“Easy on the eyes, classy - but not stuck up. Not a slob, but knows how to be casual. Good fashion sense.”  
Ed nods, slowly, attempting to picture this person in his mind's eye. He knows, obviously, that Al is talking about a metaphoric man, but Ed’s mental images shift from a woman to a man regardless. So far, so good.

“A little cocky,” Al continues, and Ed has to think if he finds such a facet attractive, “but not like - rude about it. Confident, good humoured, able to hold his own. Reliable in a fight.”

“Sure.”

“Smart, good at planning. Organized, can think on his feet at any given moment.”

“Hmm.”

Al spreads his hands open in front of him, “Yeah? What do you think?”

Ed thinks for a second - he thinks such traits are fairly universally attractive in one way or another, but certainly are good building blocks of an appealing person in his books.

“Yeah,” Ed says, “I’d say I liked that.”

Al is silent, tilting his head nonchalantly as he brings his intertwined his fingers together, placing his chin on the bridge they make as he leans on his elbows.

It's - not the response he expected, and he can feel that he makes his confusion clear on his face as his brother stares - oddly innocently but also devious - at him.

“What?” Ed asks, genuinely perplexed.

“I just described the Colonel.”

For a moment - Ed feels nothing. He almost feels suspended in time as he stares blankly at his brother, who continues to stare back.

The next moment, his instincts tell him to throttle Al.

And he _wants_ to, he thinks such an act of betrayal warrants capital punishment - instead, he closes his eyes. He blocks the view of his brother, because he thinks if he looks at him much longer, he won’t be able to hold himself back.

He hears Al attempt to stifle his own giggles as Ed, carefully and slowly, brings his hands together to tent around his nose as he leans heavily on his elbows. Through much effort, he takes slow breaths through his hands as he attempts to steady his rising blood pressure.

He takes every fucking molecule in his body to not to leap across the table and rip Al’s helmet off and fling out the window - he’s a fucking plague, and Ed briefly thinks of just getting off the train when it makes its next stop and just walk into the distance, regardless of where it takes him.

“ _You’re evil._ ” Ed says, through clenched teeth as he rises his eyes back up to meet his brother.

Al throws his head back, erupting in laughter as Ed itches to tell him to fuck off. Unforgivable, absolutely unforgivable.

“The next time your armour gets fucked, I’m not fixing you, asshole.”

He’s _seething_ , and folds his arms angrily as he steely glares at the window. The mere visage of his brother at the moment makes him feel a primal rage erupt within him.

“Oh come on,” Al says, still laughing, and Ed pointedly ignores him, “he _is_ kinda handsome.”

Ed feels as though he’s been forced to digest something positively abhorrent, and feels himself heave at the very thought. He steals a glance at Al incredulously, and wonders if he is doing this to get a further rise out of him.

“If you’re _actually_ starting to get a crush on him,” Ed shudders, aghast, “you leave me no choice but to have to mercy kill you.”

“You know,” Al says, disgustingly casual despite everything, “I never thought about Mustang like that, but after he thought I had feelings for him I began thinkin-”

“ _No_!” Ed yells, louder than he intended, as he slams a fight to the table, “I’m not listening to this!”

“ - and I thought, what if, you know -”

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Ed spits, as he slides himself off his seat and brings his hands to his ears, blocking out Al’s voice as he walks down the aisle.

“Hey! Where are you going? Brother!”

“I need to go throw up!”

**Author's Note:**

> I actually do like Ed/Ling, they’re cute, but if I’m gonna make anything shippy of them that’ll be for another day.  
> I had originally thought of making this series primarily Alphonse being gay, but Ed being bi is also similarly important to me so I thought I would whip this up. Though, if i write more of this series it’ll most likely be Alphonse focused. That being said, if anyone has any suggestions/prompts of Al being gay and/or brotherly bonding (fluff or angst), then pleaaaase feel free to share them. Strong, supportive sibling relationships are my absolute favourite, and I adore these two. ^^  
> And fun fact: what Ed says about milk is actually part ways true! Except in the real world, it was WWII that found us at a surplus in milk that needed to be sold, lol. And mammals do become lactose intolerant after weaning - humans are the outliner in this. The reason this is is because Europeans have had, historically, used milk in everything they ate, and therefore basically conditioned themselves to be lactose tolerant into adulthood. If you look at a map of lactose intolerance, you’ll see that it's mostly non-European populations. Being lactose intolerance is actually the norm. Also: milk doesn’t actually make your bones strong (unless you're an infant that needs breastfeeding still), but I’m still gonna drink it because its yummmmy.


End file.
